


The Art of Conversation

by Fabrisse



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, lots of discussion, not much action
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22106311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fabrisse/pseuds/Fabrisse
Summary: Missy and the Doctor talk.  Among the topics, Harold Saxon.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	The Art of Conversation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ruuger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruuger/gifts).



> Prompt was: 
> 
> Twelve/Missy that deals with how the Master tortured Ten and held him prisoner for a year ("Heaven Sent" flashbacks/PTSD is a plus).

“I don’t understand why you’re such a gloomy Gus this regeneration.” Missy was inspecting her face in a handy silver tray. She added just a dab of lipstick and gave herself a mock kiss before turning to him with a grin.

“Well, for one thing I had a regeneration that lasted close to 2000 years. It does tend to make one cynical.”

She raised an eyebrow and gave a brief shrug to settle her impeccable jacket into place.

“No one can be that cynical without being a romantic. You were doing better when that one… you know the one with the eyes,” she rounded her eyes and simpered. “Calais, Calder, Calamine…”

“Clara.” he said quietly. 

“Yes, she was feisty. I quite liked her when she wasn’t in the room. Did you leave her on the wrong planet again? I mean Aberdeen’s at least _near_ Earth, isn’t it?”

“Aberdeen isn’t a planet.” 

“It should be.”

He sighed. “Unfortunately, in human terms it isn’t near London, either.”

“Hmm. That one was feisty, too. Maybe that’s my problem, not fierce enough for you.”

“You, Missy, are plenty fierce.”

“That’s the sweetest thing you’ve said to me. I mean other than offering to look after me forever when I last regenerated.”

Real anger flashed through the Doctor’s eyes, and Missy’s flippancy slipped before she blew him a little kiss.

“Stop flirting. Do you mean to tell me that this is who you became immediately after Harold Saxon?”

“Well, you didn’t seem to recognize when _he_ flirted with you. Always were a bit slow on the uptake.”

The Doctor turned his back and started pacing. “Clara, and you will not forget her name again, do you understand?”

Missy lifted her hands in mock surrender. “The feisty one was named Clara. Did she leave you for a younger model?”

“SHE DIED!” the Doctor roared. “She … I am older than the known universe because she died. The grief was fresh every single day of it. I failed in my duty of care for her. And you will not mock her.”

Missy peered at him closely and said with genuine seriousness, “Clara accepted the risks, and from my encounters with her did it willingly -- no hesitation for her. She sat in a square and had tea with me with a dozen snipers around us because she cared about you and even more about this dreary little planet and its inhabitants.” There was a pause before she said, “So don’t you, Doctor, take her decisions away from her. I may mock, but I didn’t know her well. I did know her well enough to say that she. Deserves. Your. respect.”

“She has it.”

“That can’t be all. I mean the last version I saw of you was much more conventionally handsome, but your face has character, sweetie.”

The Doctor swallowed hard. “Please don’t use that term. Anything else, call me a boil on the backside of a slitheen, but not that.”

“Oh, so you and Clara got up to more than I thought. Well, good for you both. I’m hurt I admit…”

“Stop blathering. Clara never called me that. Her terms of endearment ran more to fat-headed.”

Missy smiled. “I knew I liked her. For a human. So spit it out, which dreary companion do you mean this time?”

“My wife.”

“Which… not that girl you were with when you stole your TARDIS. She lacked imagination.”

“Have you heard of Professor River Song?”

“Slept with her once. That was an adventure, I can tell you. She recognized me for Gallifreyan and, for a moment, thought I was you. Oh. She’s the little woman. Respect.” Missy made to fist bump him, but eventually gave up the effort.

“Yes, she was always an adventure.”

“Oh, not another dead one. Seriously, I may spend some of my time on this planet extending their lifespans just so I don’t have to keep mourning your pets.”

The Doctor shook his head. “Leave their evolution alone. They have a right to muck themselves up. After all, look what we did to the universe, we Time Lords.”

“As much as I hate to agree with you, yes, we can be terrible. But you were talking to me about my favorite subject, me. What made you so angry about Harold Saxon. I mean, you undid everything. Clap if you believe in fairies and all that.”

“Most of humanity hasn’t a clue what you did, you’re right about that, but I remember.”

“Pffft. You’ve been tortured before. You looked so sweet, I didn’t even hurt you much.”

His face went hard again. “You’re right. I’ve been a soldier far too often. I can handle torture, if I must.”

“True, it’s never pleasant,” Missy said, “but face it, for us it’s practically foreplay.”

“What I have a hard time forgiving was what you did to Jack Harkness. I heard him die every single time. Every single way you and that horrible wife you had thought to kill him, I heard. I saw what you did to Martha’s family, too.”

“I didn’t hurt them. A little sleep deprivation, maybe.”

“Witnessing torture, not know whether it’s coming to you, too? You tortured them very effectively and how dare you just stand there and flirt.”

Missy sniffed and waved a hand dismissively. “You’ll forgive me. It’s practically in your job description.”

“I can forgive you for myself. I can possibly take responsibility for forgiving you for all the things those funny humans can’t remember thanks to time resetting, but I can’t forgive you for Jack and Martha or Martha’s family. They’ll have to deal with it for the rest of their lives without being able to share the experience with anyone else because the rest were allowed to forget.”

“Do you want me to go grovel before them?”

“If I thought for a moment you meant it, that it would be a genuine apology… No. Even then I’d keep you apart. They don’t need the reminder.”

“Perhaps I’ll just send them a postcard then. ‘Survived. Sorry. Happy you aren’t here.’”

The Doctor got up and moved to the gate. Nardol looked up from where he’d been listening to podcasts. “Be right there, Doctor.”

“Can I have a television?”

“No, but I’ll bring you any book you like, play any music you want to hear.”

“Would you let me play?”

“What, do you want my guitar?”

“No, a piano.”

The Doctor said, “A piano. I’m certain something can be done.”

“If you were just going to incarcerate me, you should have let them kill me.”

The Doctor gave a half smile. “You don’t mean that. Or at least not for more than thirty seconds at a time.”

“Say it to me sometime. I wouldn’t mind,” Nardol said as he and the Doctor went through the routine that kept Missy locked in.  
Missy turned away and went to pick up a book. “If you ever want to try, go ahead. But you’d better get me in both hearts before I begin to regenerate.” She sat down and directed a smug smile at Nardol.

“And Doctor?”

“Yes, Missy?”

“Bring me something better than this next time. _Jane Eyre_ should be slapped for being such a doormat.”

The Doctor said, “I don’t see her that way, but I’ll bring you _Vanity Fair_ when you’ve finished. I think you’ll appreciate Becky Sharp.”

He closed the heavy basement door before she could say another word.


End file.
